


all the colors of the wind

by Frumpologist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drabbles, Fluff, Gen, Humor, M/M, tags in chapters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:22:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29585094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frumpologist/pseuds/Frumpologist
Summary: A collection of drabbles written for Last Drabble Writer Standing: Rare Pairs
Relationships: Ginny Weasley/Blaise Zabini, Hermione Granger/Charlie Weasley, Pansy Parkinson/Percy Weasley, Theodore Nott/Harry Potter
Comments: 15
Kudos: 33





	1. That Tickles

**Author's Note:**

> Pairing: Charlie Weasley/Hermione Granger  
> Theme: Red and/or passion  
> Warnings: None

Her bedroom is like a silent vortex. If any noise exists, it’s immediately sucked into the void and replaced with awkward, heavy silence.

They stare at one another—all the heat usually between them vanishes. If Charlie wasn’t raking his hands through his hair, Hermione might be convinced he’s catatonic.

She’s clenching her teeth together. Half-smile, half-grimace. All horror. Maybe she’s miscalculated the level of sharing they’re prepared for. Perhaps this is too much and there’s going to be a Charlie-sized hole through her door.

Can’t blame him really. Nothing is quite a stark reminder of their age difference as— _this_.

And what’s to be said, really? She’s faced down dark wizards and played an integral part in the freedom of Muggleborns. Yet, there’s this—this _thing_. And while she knows most people her age would already have boxed it up and hidden it away, maybe to give to their kids someday, Hermione’s far more sentimental than that.

Or terrified it’ll crawl out of the box and find itself in her bed again.

Just the thought chills her bones. She clenches her fingers. Worst possible mistake. In the infinite quiet, a loud childish voice bellows.

_“Hahaha, hehehe. That tickles.”_

Hermione winces as the violently red toy shakes and carries on laughing.

Charlie plops down beside her like a sack of potatoes. Entirely bemused. Side-eyes the monstrosity in her hands.

“What the hell is this?”

She buries her face into Charlie’s chest and wishes the bed would swallow her whole.


	2. The Sapphire Encrusted Firecrab Hypothesis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Theo Nott/Harry Potter  
> Theme: Blue and/or calm  
> Warnings: None  
> Placed: 1st

**_Evidence: Potter & Fire Crabs_ **

  * Potter actually smiled at the blue bejeweled devils, obviously traumatized, can no longer recognize danger.
  * Entire class was proper horrified. Not him.
  * Dopey grin. Unrealistic excitement. He’s been bewitched.
  * He lost an eyebrow to crab’s arse-fire, then patted its shell and called it a ‘good boy’.
  * Regretfully found it adorable. And oddly arousing.
  * I’m probably hexed. Research countercurses.



After undergoing thorough testing—by none other than Hermione Granger—Theo is forced to conclude he isn’t hexed, poisoned, or enchanted. There are very few conclusions he can draw. He goes for the most obvious.

**_Hypothesis: Sapphire Encrusted Fire Crabs are Aphrodisiacs_ **

“That’s utterly asinine, Theo,” Hermione sighs as she slides the parchment back to him across the library desk. “There’s no evidence suggesting sapphire encrusted fire crabs provoke arousal in wizards or witches.”

“What do you believe then?” Theo’s lip twitches downward as he fights for composure. “I’m suddenly turned on by arthropods?”

“Orrrr,” she sings, huffing on the final note, “you fancy Harry.”

“Wrong.” Shifting in his seat, Theo taps the parchment with a blunt fingernail. “Proof’s right there in the evidence. Potter’s clearly aroused by the little buggers—did you see where I said he called it a ‘good boy’? Obvious daddy kink.”

Hermione leans back against her chair and crosses her arms. Something about her face is smug, and Theo doesn’t like it. “You’ve been his dorm mate for seven months, so it makes sense you’d start to fall for him.”

Theo protests. “This is obviously magical creature hypnotism. If we spend more time with those fire crabs, I’ll be waxing poetic about Potter’s shining emerald eyes and flyaway raven locks.”

“So you’ve noticed then?”

“Noticed what?”

She pegs him with her priggish smirk. “Harry’s shining emerald eyes and flyaway raven locks. You’ve noticed him.”

“Whatever, Granger.” Re-rolling the parchment, Theo drops his eyes from hers and tries to ignore the warning bells going off in his mind. “Don’t blame me when the whole school is aroused by the sight of sapphire jewels.”

He takes the long way back to his dorm. Annoyed that he keeps picturing Potter’s cheerful face. Certainly, it’s got to be the crustaceans playing with his mind.

Later, Potter arrives without a blue fire crab in his hands. Eyes bright, hair messy.

Theo’s aroused.

Then begrudgingly revises his hypothesis and curses Granger under his breath.

_**Hypothesis: I Fancy Harry Potter** _


	3. If the Gods Allow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Blaise Zabini/Ginny Weasley  
> Theme: Green and/or jealousy  
> Warnings: Major Character Death  
> Award: How Dare!

Ginny’s boots pound the wet ground. She’s running to the beat of her heart—too fast; the pace can’t be maintained for long. Time is against her. How long does she have? Minutes? Judging by the rapid spellfire, the constant crackle of magic chasing her, barely that.

Still, she pushes on. Fast as she can, ignoring the wheeze of her lungs and the fire clawing at her sides.

She’s been given a gift: a chance. If she gets caught, it’ll all have been for naught.

Branches whip against her dirty skin. Welts swell along her arms and legs. The sting drives her forward. She latches onto it, lets it empower her. Dittany will help once she’s safe—if she can make it far enough. If not, well… then it won’t matter.

Pressing through the dense forest, Ginny keeps her eyes ahead. Heart careening like a hummingbird. She’s going to make it. If she can just move _faster_.

Chunks of bark explode from a tree. Pain lances across her cheek. Ginny curses, forcing her feet to move until the forest blurs around her. After a few heart pounding moments, she’s in a clearing and struggling to breathe.

They’re following closely. At any moment, she’ll be found and dragged back to the manor. To be tortured. Maybe killed.

There’s a loud thump somewhere behind her, then a gravelly _‘fuck’_.

Ginny spins, lifting her wand. She’s not good at defense, but she can cast a mean hex. Gritting her teeth, she tightens her fist and steadies her shaking legs.

Blaise steps from the shadows, cloaked in long black robes. He discards his gilded mask to the ground and pulls her to his chest.

“You don’t have long.”

Ginny tilts her chin, finding his dark eyes. “Come with me.”

“You know that’s not possible.”

She struggles out of his grip. “He’s going to kill you, and you’re just going to let him.”

“Better me than you,” Blaise grabs her sweaty hand. He kisses it, then pleads. “I can’t do this if I’m always worried for you. Apparate, and if the Gods allow, I’ll find you after.”

“Blaise, I—”

Their fingers slide apart.

“I know.”

Tears gather in her lashes as she memorizes him for just a moment longer. Wishing she could say the things she’s held back for fear they would get her killed.

“I’ll find you, Red. Now _go_.”

Taking a half-step, Ginny concentrates on the last known safe house. Just as her magic _cracks_ , green light erupts in the clearing. Time stops.

Before the world goes black, she watches Blaise’s body arch and drop lifelessly to the ground.

She reappears in the safe house. Empty, silent, and hazed in the echo of _Avada Kedavra_.


	4. Simplicity is Overrated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Percy Weasley/Pansy Parkinson  
> Theme: Grey and/or Complex  
> Warnings: None  
> Place: 4th

“Weasley?”

He hums more than answers. Working a case with him is tedious. They’re not even partners—or Aurors—and yet, somehow they’ve been stuck together a dozen times.

She thinks it’s penance. Apparently, she’ll always be atoning for something stupid she said when she was seventeen.

Whatever. Best to go along with it. She can’t afford another scandal.

Plus, there’s something about his stoicism that kind of turns her on.

“Weasley.”

Pansy flips her hair and crosses her legs. Pointless; he doesn’t look her way.

“What’s another word for treaty?”

His bespectacled eyes tighten at the corners at the same time the tip of his pink tongue peeks between his lips. “Agreement.”

Pansy’s eyes drop to the paper resting on her thigh. She flicks her quill back and forth and then shakes her head. “Hmm—too many letters. Pact?”

She scribbles the word and moves onto the next.

Weasley sips his tea—no cream or sugar, like a heathen. “Thought you didn’t want my help with the crosswords?”

She decides not to answer. Gives him a taste of his own potion. Instead, she watches him concentrate. It’s mesmerising.

His blunt thumbnail traces the edge of a shiny badge. He’s chewing on the corner of his lip, studying the pin as if he hasn’t looked at it every night they’ve been together. She’s not sure why; it’s actually quite horrible. Someone’s charmed it to say Bighead Boy.

He always frowns when he stares at it, which gives her feelings she doesn’t want to unpack.

“Why do you always carry that with you?”

He pretends not to hear her.

“I know you’re mad we didn’t find Dolohov today.” Still, he says nothing. Not even a glance her way. “We’ll get him tomorrow.”

Another non-committal hum.

She huffs, not even looking at the crossword puzzle for clues. “Three letters. Exasperate.”

Weasley so rarely meets her eyes, that when he does, her gut clenches. Not an unpleasant feeling. His lips pinch, and she thinks she detects a little curl at their corners.

“Vex,” he says, and pushes up from the chair, closing the distance between them.

His chin appears over her shoulder, and she ignores the cedar undertones of his cologne. He can see she’s faking the clue.

“Next?”

Pansy takes a fortifying breath. “Intricate, layered. Seven letters.”

Weasley whispers, his breath sending tingles down her spine. “Complex.”

She doesn’t bother filling in the boxes. “I don’t like complex things.”

“Such irony.” The vibration of his laugh does silly things to her. “I’ve come around to them.”

“Have you?”

“Mm.”

Damn that sound.

Somehow, she’s leaned into his warmth. Their lips are all but touching. “What are we doing?”

His lips twitch. “Uncomplicating things.”

A beat passes like honey through a sieve. There are shadows behind his eyes, same as the ones she sees in the mirror. Suddenly, he doesn’t seem quite so—Weasley.

The crossword is forgotten. It slips away like all her worries.

When their lips touch, she gasps. And she knows—is absolutely certain—simplicity is overrated.


	5. Glutton For Punishment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Harry/Daphne  
> Prompt: Orange, Creativity   
> Rating: G

Minutes tick by in the professors’ lounge. Silently, I remind myself why we’re doing this: supporting our students. Gryffindor versus Slytherin.

It’s tradition.

When Daphne’s done painting, she smiles into the bristles of her makeup brush.

I turn to the mirror, which promptly exclaims, “Quite fetching!”

Over my shoulder, Daphne watches me blink at the face staring back. “What do _you_ think?”

“Er…” I stroke the gold paint on my cheeks. “It’s certainly... creative.”

Her brow lifts. “And?”

“You’ve made me a _lion_ , Daph.”

She laughs, threading her fingers through my mane. “Gryffindor-esque, as requested.”

I’m a glutton for punishment.


	6. The Little Yellow Cottage on the Long Dirt Road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Ginny/Luna  
> Prompts: Yellow and/or playful  
> Rating: T

The tabloids said they were running. Running far from the war and the demons they left behind.

Luna said they were burning off adrenaline. A need to do _something_. Something that didn’t require defensive spells or protective magic. Something just for them.

Whilst Ginny found her place amongst the Harpies, Luna traveled the world. There were no demons chasing; they were simply running to each other. Any chance they could get.

It was there, in the little yellow cottage on the long dirt road, time stopped.

There was peace.

There was laughter.

There was love.

At night, the butter yellow sheets twisted around their bodies. In the afternoon, on the creaky front porch swing, Luna rested her head in Ginny’s lap. They lived off dandelion wine and vegetation from the land. They’d read, laugh, kiss, and dance.

And, each time they met, they’d promise one day it would be their home. Forever.

“I think it’s time to retire.” Ginny’s fingers threaded through the long blonde curls on her lap. “One World Cup is enough, don’t you think?”

Luna hummed quietly. Her big blue eyes opened to find Ginny staring down at her with a smile. “It’s certainly more than none, but is it enough for you?”

Though Ginny didn’t answer, the world around them filled the silence. The music of the night—a gentle breeze, chirping insects, and the creak of their swing—permeated the moonless night.

“The only thing I’ve left to discover is the crumple-horned snorkack,” Luna said, eyes fluttering closed as Ginny’s nails caressed patterns against her scalp. She paused, drawing a soft breath of hesitation. “It’s possible my dad lied about it. What will I have given up for nothing?”

Ginny’s voice was infused with a soft melody as her palm slid against Luna’s cheek. “He may have lied, but will you ever settle for not having proof either way?”

Luna didn’t answer. Instead, she drew Ginny’s hand into hers and laced their fingers together.

The little yellow cottage on the long dirt road stood empty the next morning and the six months that followed. Every visit after, they’d talk of retirement and giving up the hunt, but each time they’d say goodbye once more.

There were letters, Floo calls, and the occasional lunch. They’d find fleeting moments to sneak away at weddings and remembrance galas. But those hours paled in comparison to their perennial weekends in the little yellow cottage on the long dirt road.

“I’ve searched high and low for something extraordinary,” Luna whispered on the daffodil-scented breeze one evening on the porch swing. “And I’ve found that in you—in us—Ginevra.”

Later, their fingers tangled under the sheets as Ginny cuddled in close. “I wanted an adventure,” she said quietly into Luna’s mussed hair. “I found that in you—in us.”

Theirs was a simple kind of love. Enduring. The kind that traveled over mountains and through seas. Love that could stop time when they came back to the little yellow cottage on the long dirt road.


End file.
